back in albuquerque.

Back in Albuquerque. Readjusting my sleep schedule, which incidentally throws my hormones all over the place. Angry, horny, taciturn, nostalgic, manic—all at once. It's worth it though; I miss diurnalness. Now couple all that with overly romantic 1930s love-stories on AMC at 4 AM.

I kind of don't care about Christmas all of a sudden. A year ago, at Katie's house, I couldn't have been more of an enthusiast. Maybe it was because of the snow, loving family and properly decorated house. Here all I've got is this grumpy old man. I'm not sure if I'm referring to my father or myself. The wind chill is about twenty degrees fahrenheit, and the winds are gusting up to fifty miles an hour. I was loading groceries into my car, and some middle-aged man blew past me saying "Holy cow!" Tomorrow morning, when I'm (hopefully) awake and four inches of snow has (hopefully) fallen, maybe I'll start decorating.

Last night I was greeted back into Middle America in the most proper way possible. Quinn invited me to a friend's birthday party at a bowling alley (the same guy who had the princess party in my October 8, 2006 entry). We ended up in the bar at the alley, it was karaoke night, some loud group of middle-aged people were singing recent country songs I thankfully had never heard of. I almost felt foreign. Living in LA, I almost forgot there were people like this. Then this one Indian-looking man with missing teeth started singing "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" by Rod Stewart, but would begin each line of the song about ten seconds too late. He fell just short of convincing me he was sexy. The bowling alley was formerly named Eu-Can-Bowl because it's at the intersection of Eubank and Candelaria. Now it's called gespacho or something.

Things I overheard my father say so far:
"Good, go play. Stop meowing around here. I'm about fed up with ya."
"We're cowboys. We fall offa horses. So what?"